


Devotion

by Trobadora



Series: Mord'Sith Cycle [3]
Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: F/M, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-01
Updated: 2011-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-22 02:29:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trobadora/pseuds/Trobadora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>His only power is who he is.</i> - Cara meets Darken Rahl for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devotion

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle 12. The prompts were: "Cara/Darken, chains, red, devotion".

Cara stands ready, wearing red leather for the first time, her hair fully braided, an agiel at her side. _Her_ agiel. She's earned it. She's all Mord'Sith now. She bares her teeth in a feral grin. It's an honour for her first assignment to be this, here at the People's Palace to greet the Lord Rahl himself. Mistress Macnair's stern voice rings in her mind, reminding her and Dahlia to do her proud.

They will.

Mistress Meret turns and sweeps a cool glance over the assembled Sisters of the Agiel. She's beautiful, Cara thinks, all smooth, dark skin and smooth, red leather. She radiates power - she has to, running the temple here at the People's Palace. Cara admires her discreetly, her eyelashes lowered, her lips curled into a slight smirk. She doesn't look at Dahlia, who is standing by her side. But she does imagine, just for a moment, Dahlia on her knees before Mistress Meret, her blonde head buried between Mistress Meret's thighs. Imagines herself in that position, and begins plotting to earn the privilege.

Then _he_ walks in: the Lord Rahl himself, and the world stops. No one needs to be reminded: the Mord'Sith all go to their knees before their master. He's young, not that much over Cara's own age, but his presence outshines even Mistress Meret. He's certain of his place even here, and that alone would draw every eye. No other man could walk into a Mord'Sith temple without fear. None should.

But no man can resist a Mord'Sith, not even Lord Rahl. His magic is useless against them; his only power is who he is. Cara's eyes trail over him, appreciating. It's his right.

Darken Rahl turns slowly, surveying his subjects, a small, almost private smile on his lips. "It's time," he says.

Mistress Meret rises, and they all rise with her. A commanding gesture from her red-gloved hand, and two Mord'Sith step forward to flank Lord Rahl. They each slide a hand over his shoulder, under his vest, and slip it off. Bare-chested, he is led to stand on a grate, their hands circling his biceps. Above him, chains are dangling.

Mistress Meret steps forward and begins to turn the winch. The chains come down.

The two Mord'Sith raise Lord Rahl's unresisting arms. Cara almost gasps as the manacles click shut around his wrists. Something indefinable pools in her belly.

Mistress Meret turns the winch again. Lord Rahl shows no sign of discomfort as the chains straighten, as he is pulled off his feet. He's still smiling.

What is this? They should worship at his feet, Cara thinks and suppresses a snarl. Instead he hangs there, strung up and helpless as any Mord'Sith captive, any slave for the breaking.

 _Wrong_ , Cara thinks, but she can't look away. She bites her tongue, tastes blood.

He's no slave. "Proceed," he commands, his position taking nothing away from the authority in his voice.

Mistress Meret steps forward. Her lips are parted, and her teeth are showing. She trails a gloved finger across his chest, raises her agiel. "My Lord." It's almost a whisper, but it rings as loud as thunder in the breathless silence of the temple.

Her agiel strikes his chest, and dark veins of pain blossom across his skin. She strikes his side, his neck. His muscles tense; his head is thrown back, and his mouth opens. There is no scream, no sound other than the high-pitched whine of the agiels and, every now and then, the clinking of his chains.

Mistress Meret points her agiel at another Sister. The Mord'Sith, a short, dark-haired woman maybe five years Cara's senior, raises her own agiel to strike her master.

Cara's mouth falls open. After a moment, she licks her lips, slowly, as if she wasn't gaping. He is beautiful like this, beautiful like a Mord'Sith strung up for training. She watches as Mord'Sith after Mord'Sith steps forward at Mistress Meret's sign, to offer him pain and devotion.

Then Mistress Meret's agiel is pointing at Cara. She swaggers forward, radiating a confidence she doesn't entirely feel, and trails her agiel across her own lips in anticipation. Lord Rahl is breathing hard in the momentary reprieve, and for a moment she thinks she sees an amused smirk on his face. Then she paints pain across his chest and down his stomach, marvelling at his reaction, at a master who'll show his servants what he's made of. Every touch of the agiel is worship. She burns with it.

He's more than Lord Rahl. He's more than his lineage. _He's one of them._ He commands their hearts.

It's the hardest thing in the world to step away from.


End file.
